


Snowfall

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingering, Glove Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: He’s practically vibrating out of his skin with the thrill of the fight.He comes back from a mission and cannot wait to get inside you. He’ll start with his glove.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Kudos: 18





	Snowfall

Look, when he comes back he still smells like cordite and falling snow, still has little drops of water glittering in his hair; he’s got bruises that crawl all across his body and he does not care; he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with the thrill of the fight and he says 

_Take your fucking clothes off or I will tear them off you._

And he’s so much bigger, thicker, in his winter coat and gloves; you’re poleaxed by the pure brute strength of him such that you can’t speak, but he sees the _yes sir_ in your face and it satisfies. You manage to strip naked to the waist but barely; he’s already on you, already digging those thick gloved fingers into your waistband and tearing and you _liked_ those pants but you like this _more._

You like the way he cups that hand between your legs and curls a finger in carelessly and yeah you’re wet, shining up his glove. He sees it and it makes him growl, makes him curse, makes him curl and flex and stroke that finger and it is so _thick_ inside you, so smooth and so unlike his (scarred, calloused, clever) fingers that it’s got you gasping from the strangeness but it’s good, yeah, _fuck_ is it ever good. 

The gloves trade dexterity for protection and it shows in the snarl he makes when he shoves a second finger in. Normally he’d start with cleverness and care, to get you oversensitive before he _really_ fucks you up but this. _Oh_ he can’t wait, not with his blood singing with murder and mayhem. He’s clumsy with it and somehow it’s perfect; you rut against the leather and it’s soaked, it’s filthy with your need and he will make you lick it clean later. 

And when you spasm around him it’s muffled by the leather, but not so much that it doesn’t make him smirk, doesn’t make him pull his fingers out ungentle and open his fly, and 

_I hope you’re ready for me, I have got to be inside you_

As he’s lifting you up like it’s nothing, as he’s spearing you such that all you can do is grip the collar of his coat and let him _take,_ let him hitch you up with his hands under your thighs and nothing else to hold you up except his pure strength. And his wet hand is cool on your leg, his coat still carries the winter chill, but he is burning hot inside you. He’s lifting and lowering you on his cock with ease and there’s a tearing sound as one of his sleeves departs this mortal coil, victim of the muscle that strains it. 

And then he’s pulsing inside you in sharp bursts, he’s kissing you openmouthed and wet for the first time since he walked in, he’s panting hard as he’s lowering you onto your feet. Your clothes are gone, wrecked, casualties of this moment, but he will dress you in his shirt and watch you as you move about the room. 

He will see the slick and come sliding down your leg and he will smirk at that proof of his possession; he will rub it into your skin and hold his hand out, expectant. He will watch as you suck his gloved fingers into your mouth one by one, as you lick his palm clean. And he will call you to him, to sit at his feet and await his word.


End file.
